When the lights go on again
by Taleya
Summary: Just a little quiet musing to Vera Lynn, and some pandering to my lazy 1940's introspective mood....


When the lights go on again…

By Taleya

* * *

Sometimes it was hard to remember they were POW's.

But not often. 

A day without missions, the reality of their position bleeding through the protective layer of missions and sabotage, the day ticking away with mindlessly relentless tedium. A day for sprawling in the recreation hall, or on the benches outside. Doing nothing, thinking nothing, minds crumbling under the huge vacuum of forced inactivity. Time to do the minutae, time to polish boots, mend some socks, anything to escape the reality of a POW camp.

A record lay on the battered old gramophone perched precariously on a rickety table. It scratched a few times before the needle took properly to the groove, gentle lyrics whispering out of the warped metal speaker. Light, lilting, lost, hopeful and strong all at the same time. Mourning what was lost, promising a future they all worked for, slow, almost lazy notes wrapping around them, brushing against their minds, bringing thoughts of home.

_When the lights go on again  
__A__ll over the world   
__And the boys are home again   
__All over the world_

LeBeau stared down at his hands, seeing a flag in shreds, a country fallen under nazi jackboots. Home. Did he even have a home? Would he, after the war? He leaned his head back and stared sightlessly out the window at the clear skies above. Would there be anything left of France after the war to go back to? Her back had been broken in the Great War, her youth left shattered and dying on Flander's fields. Would she survive another? Patriotism seemed so easy when you couldn't see what had become of your homeland. Tales filtered back, the hangings, the Vichy collaboration. Sometimes it was so hard to believe when your home was so far away. Sometimes it was so hard to believe when you heard of your own people turning against themselves, so hard when you remembered black uniforms and boots marching through the heart of your home. So hard when the land that you loved seemed nothing but a forgotten dream. But he had to believe. 

He had to…

_And rain or snow is all   
That may fall from the skies above   
A kiss won't mean goodbye   
But hello to love _

Newkirk paused against the wall, cigarette dangling from oblivious fingers. It was odd, here, in the middle of Germany, he was safer than family back home in England. No German bombers, no air raid sirens, no cowering under the table. He wondered how his sister Elizabeth was holding up in Stepney, how his aunt was doing in Liverpool. Thank god the kids were safe at least, good old Bessie had shipped them to the country when the worst of it started. She'd stayed behind, doing her part for the war effort. Daft woman, she should have taken to her heels with the kids. Wouldn't though, not her way. She'd kept her chin up, knowing her, waved the kids goodbye and gone off to do her duty. Taking over for the men while they were at war. Working at the factories, keeping England going. Working at those same factories the Krauts were bombing, strong limbs and ever smiling face locked in a rictus of death under a pile of rubble…

He didn't notice when he crushed the cigarette in his fist.

_When the lights go on again   
All over the world   
__And the ships will sail again  
__All over the world_

Kinch tossed a baseball idly in his hand, watching the spin of it, feeling its weight land in his palm, mind leaning back and strolling through long-lost times. Ahh, good old Detroit. He remembered as a kid, watching those huge steel carriers as they made their way to port from across the lake. The smell of manufacturing heavy in the air, wearing it like a second skin. Ducking out to watch the Tigers at practice, his hand curling around the chain link fence, breath stilling in his throat, watching them, thinking someday he could do that, be like that, racial slurs fading to the background, hearing the dull thwack of ash on leather, dirt flying into the air from a stolen base, laughter in crowded rooms, delicious smell of family meals wafting down the stairs as he pushed his way home through the crowds of workers, hands in his pockets. Good times. 

He hoped he could have them again. 

_Then we'll have time for things   
Like wedding rings   
And sweethearts will sing   
When the lights go again   
All over the world _

Carter's hands drifted to stillness, resting lightly on the boots he was polishing, mind in another place, remembering sun-kissed hair and a smiling face, beautiful with a tiny spray of freckles across her nose. The guys down at the soda streams in the drugstore, the ones that knocked over his ice cream and laughed as he cleaned it up, they'd called her plain, but to him she was the most beautiful creature alive. And when she smiled at him it was like the entire world was painted in gold. He should have asked her to marry him before he left. It didn't seem right though, war wasn't a place for that sort of thing. But after the war, oh boy, after the war when he could stop fighting and go back to working in the drugstore, maybe helping out home a little at harvest time…then would be the right time. 

After the war… 

Hogan leaned back against the door, letting the music wash over him. Songs of hope, of longing, he let it filter through him, but never touch him. He couldn't afford to. Day after day, the same slog, the same faces, the same wanting. Wanting for it to be over. Wanting to go home. Wanting to walk out and be free again and not have to pander to simpering Germans, not have to fear the bullet in the back, not have to try again and again to make something right in a world that all too often seemed to have gone mad. To just take a powder, take time off. Let it all out, let it all go, to cry, scream, he didn't know what. He just knew he couldn't afford to. He was the commanding officer, the one the men looked to for their answers, the one who had to hold it all together and be the rock the others held on to when it all got to be too much. 

He couldn't afford to want or need or fear. 

But he did anyway.

_When the lights go on again   
All over the world   
And the ships will sail again   
All over the world   
Then we'll have time for things   
Like wedding rings   
And free hearts will sing   
When the lights go again   
__All over the world_

* * *

_**When the lights go on again (All over the world)   
© Seiler/Marcus/Benjamin  
Performed by Vera Lynn**_


End file.
